


Captured

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gabriel's a schmuck, Impact, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Bondage, M/M, No Sexual Content, Romance, Some Fluff, supportive demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Gabriel drops in on Aziraphale late one night and finds him in the back room of his shop in the midst of a rather bizarre situation ...





	Captured

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anon who requested a story with mild D/s overtones. I hope you like it. And for those of you who have been loving all of my fluff ... I'm sorry XD Rated Mature with no sexual content because anything I write with any D/s in it will always be considered Mature.

“Progress report time!” Gabriel calls out, miracling his way into Aziraphale’s shop when he finds the door bolted shut for the night. “I know, I know - I don’t usually collect them in person anymore …” He stops to check out one of Aziraphale’s many human books, scrunching his nose and wondering for the thousandth time why an angel would care about these material possessions so much “… but I wanted to drop in and see how my _favorite_ Principality is holding up …”

The sound of an impact, followed by a low, pained grunt, doesn’t stop Gabriel in his tracks, but it does make him pause. It’s not a sound he’s familiar with, but it’s one he can identify.

The sound of someone being hit, and hit _hard_.

In Aziraphale’s shop?

Chubby, non-threatening, passive, soft little Aziraphale?

_Is Aziraphale being beaten up?_ he wonders with a glimmer of glee.

Gabriel heard this city Aziraphale lives in - this _Soho_ \- can be dangerous. According to Aziraphale’s own progress reports, it seems that he has had to deal occasionally with something he refers to as _organized crime_ – human ruffians threatening him and other shop owners for money, or else they’d see their businesses burned to the ground.

As an avid observer of human behavior, it was something Gabriel had wanted to witness firsthand.

It looks like he might get his chance.

Besides, if Aziraphale is being beaten up by human thugs during his mission to inspire humanity, best not for Gabriel to get involved. As Aziraphale himself pointed out, that might be interfering with God’s _ineffable plan_.

Another slap rings out, another low grunt follows, and out of sheer morbid curiosity (and not an inch of personal joy at all, the Archangel _swears_) he hurries to Aziraphale’s private room in the back of the shop to see for himself.

The scene he’s confronted with when he gets there, however …

… yup, _that_ stops him in his tracks.

“Aziraphale! What are you doing!?” he asks, thoroughly perplexed, staring open-mouthed at the most bizarre spectacle he’s ever seen.

And seeing as he visited Earth briefly during the 70s and 80s, that’s saying a _lot_.

Aziraphale isn’t getting the life beaten out of him at all, to Gabriel’s minor dismay. Instead, it’s his _demon_, Crowley, tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back by what looks like one of Aziraphale’s wretched tartan scarves.

And _Aziraphale_ is doing the hitting – open palm against the demon’s cheek.

Aziraphale, panting hard, turns to Gabriel and, of all things, smiles like the Devil. “Hello, Gabriel, me ole mate! I’m glad you stopped by! As you can see, I’ve captured the demon Crowley.”

“Uh …” Gabriel’s brow crinkles in the middle, more than a bit confused. He looks at the demon – head hanging from his slumped shoulders, his hair a mess, like he’s been on the receiving end of this beating for quite some time now. He doesn’t look bruised yet, but demons are sturdy bastards. Part of the reason why it’s so much fun to fight them.

It’ll take a little time to get him there.

But from the glowing grin on Aziraphale’s face, he looks like he’s up to the challenge.

Gabriel may not understand what’s going on, but if Aziraphale is going to start doing his job the way he’s supposed to, with this much enthusiasm, far be it for Gabriel to interfere.

“Excellent work, Aziraphale! You know, you had us worried up in the head office the way you two were acting … _like boyfriends._”

“That was just a part of my brilliant deception,” Aziraphale explains brightly. “I was gaining his confidence, biding my time …”

Gabriel’s face goes blank. “It took you _6000 years_.”

“It’s called a _long con_,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes. “Really. You guys upstairs _need_ to get with the times, so to speak.”

“Okay then!” Gabriel says, fine with that as an explanation. Means to an end and all that. “Let’s miracle this heathen upstairs and dispatch with him there.”

“I think that maybe I should do that down here?” Aziraphale says, wringing his hands, obviously anxious to get back to work. “This way the head office won’t have blood on their hands.”

Gabriel raises a finger, tapping the air. “Good thinking, Aziraphale! Glad to see you willing to get your hands dirty! I always knew you’d finally pick a side!”

Aziraphale’s smile becomes tight, but Gabriel doesn’t notice. “I’m grateful you had so much faith in me.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But for now, I’ll let you get on with your work. Oh, here, you might need this.” Gabriel holds out his empty hand, offering it to Aziraphale as if something’s there. Aziraphale extends a hand to receive it … _whatever_ it is. He wraps his fingers around empty air and in a flash of orange flame, he’s holding his long departed sword.

“My … my sword …?” he whispers, looking it over with wonder.

“Has officially been re-instated. Good work!”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!” Gabriel walks in front of the filthy, defeated demon, sneering at him with the confidence of a man who is willing to throw hands as long as his opponent is tied up and tethered to a chair. “Make sure you make him scream, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale raises a brow at that request. “Will do.”

With a beam of blue light, Gabriel dissolves away, making a bee line back to Heaven, eager to report to his higher up that, solely by virtue of his persistence and guidance, the rogue angel Aziraphale has been brought back in line.

As soon as the room goes quiet, the stench of upper management wafting away, Crowley snickers.

“He really is one sandwich short of a picnic, isn’t he?”

“Yes, well, Archangels may get the corner offices, but they’re not all that bright.” Aziraphale examines the weapon in his hand and chuckles dryly. “I got my flaming sword back.”

“Good on you. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Aziraphale says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He miracles the flame out and sets the sword aside, covering it with a blanket so he doesn’t get reminded of where it came from, why he got it back.

Crowley peeks up through strands of disheveled red hair and catches his angel’s solemn eyes. He grins, trying to lure Aziraphale back to the head space they’d been in before that blowhard showed up, and this exciting new foreplay they’d discovered, quite by accident, when Aziraphale swung at a mosquito and hit Crowley square in the face.

The chair and the bondage, well … that kind of just … _happened_.

“Now then, love, where were we?”

Aziraphale looks Crowley’s way, suddenly recalling exactly where they were once he catches sight of his demon’s punch-drunk expression, his glowing eyes, that gorgeous long hair that frames his face with his head hanging forward, and kiss swollen lips which he’s chosen to lick with a now bifurcated tongue. Aziraphale flashes a wicked little grin of his own, steps up to his demon, and starts undoing his shirt, popping the buttons off one at a time.

“I think I heard Gabriel mention something about making you scream …”


End file.
